Luyện nghe bài hát Sum Shit I Wrote

Marks I erase racism, I'm as large as a bigot
Groove is my escapism I'm bubbly I just kick it
What I need from you is understanding I'm standing
On my own two, down my own crew

Toe cancer, I'm bad to the bone too, I'm prone to off
When I'm off that Cognac, I can't back like a masseuse
I get loose like a screw turned from left to tight
When it's for some action, I get Red's, "Tonight's Da Night"

An eye for an eye, a for his wife
Dissected, I'm on some hi-tech shit computers want to
Your style is Pascal, is Basic and just instinct
I'm with the fam and ran scams, me and Murray got up on big

And if is the key, goddammit I'm the locksmith
Started a way on my life, the mic I rust like bostage
I switch styles like a with controls that are remote
in a page and with words I elope

Walking down the aisles styles I freak the viles
Anti-Nazi when I like a Z-28
At any rate, brothers gain because I loaned them microphones
They couldn't house the shit so had to rent to own

like that, coming from the go rapper
I wanna bone Pinkett and that hoe Patra
So on and you don't, now come on
Ah on and you don't

Sometime when I'm alone in my I stare at the wall
And in the of my mind I hear a wack-ass rhyme
And I catch Alz-rhymers, then forget it, I get
Like a in position with the stolen card the credit

Fuck flipping the script, the rap scene I'm to edit
My mellows me, "Never", they be like, "Never's going to get it"
too much, I'm much too, I do justice to poetics
That's why be like, "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

Other studs come to see what I am up to
They be on the dick of crew that be giving us and buying us fruit
Like Kareem I got the hook up, brothers look out because look
Rest in to 'Heavena', washing tons of rappers like Booker

Tee told me, "You gotta get out of the crib, get the world"
How you to come off with the style that's through?
It's like that, on, ha ha
like that, keep on

My is in black block of niggas that rock they hat cock
I'm real a fight with my rap, rappers I slap box
Back I got my rap, now get your glock out the face
Got flavor with fat taste, the rat race is a rat race

'cause you got Adidas with the fat laces
And the fro make you hip-hop, tou sorry excuse for funk rap
Why is there so many trying to rhyme, yo funk that
The real starting to come back

The go is where I'm from and I'm at, jack
I started cat when I was 10
Before dinner I was getting big dog Glen Robinson
I don't see wrong with a little bump and grind

But comes a when you gotta get off of that booty
The facts of life I didn't learn from Tootie
But living in the big
But I still Tootie cause she got big titties

My is steep, I write rhymes on the incline
Splat guts plus fat nuts and lay up a crib line
I'm slamming, on the one
I'm a bad man, you're a good son, come on